


The Demon Haunted

by slivered



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU - Modern Setting, AU - Supernatural, AU - démons, M/M, Public Sex, implied minor Lance/Nyma, incubusKeith, incubusLance, minor Keith/OMC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8897761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slivered/pseuds/slivered
Summary: "Well, what sort of self-respecting incubus rocks a mullet, huh?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has far too much plot to be called porn. Thus, the rating is just to be safe since dicks are out at one point.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. Getting a handle on characterization.

He was still hungry. 

Stretched out on his stomach, covered in sweat and another man's body, Keith groaned and shifted. "Move," he ordered, jostling the heavy figure on top of him. The man answered with a sleep-slurred 'hurh?' but made no effort to actually obey. 

_Damnit._ All he'd been looking for had been a nice meal for the night, and this asshole had barely gotten through the appetizer before conking out on him completely. Though this, Keith supposed, is what he got for going with eager and easy: a light snack when he wanted to gorge himself on a full buffet. Shifting and twisting, Keith shoved at the man's shoulder until the other rolled off and onto his back with heavy snore. 

He sat up, then, and ran fingers through his long, black hair. His cock was still heavy, reddish and swollen — another annoyance from the last couple of wasted hours, he hadn't even gotten off while the man's release was already drying on the insides of his thighs. Ugh. 

Why didn't humans have any fucking _stamina_? 

Well, nothing to do about but go back on the hunt. _Again_. Keith stood up with a hiss, pausing long enough to grab his scattered clothes from the motel room floor. If he went without feeding, _really_ feeding, much longer, he risked going into a frenzy. 

And frenzies meant hunters. Which, _no_. Nothing ever ended well when it involved hunters. 

So, hunting it was. And then feeding, because he's stupidly gone too long without. Keith stomped into the adjoining bath of the shitty room his latest meal had paid for and got to work removing the man's scent and feel from his body. 

* 

Of course, it was raining when he left the motel, a heavy, cold drizzle that plastered his shower-damp hair to his skull. But it was early enough that the streets weren't empty. Car lights sped past as he wandered down the sidewalk. Not many people were walking, not in this weather, but the few that were moved quickly. 

Keith didn't even spare them a glance. 

The downtown streets were lined with restaurants and small pubs. He could hear the sounds of billiard balls clanking together as he passed an open door, smell the yeast-heavy tang of alcohol mixed with smoke. He paused and inhaled more deeply; the bitter-sweet scent of pent up desperation lingered underneath the rest of the pub's more familiar smells. It wouldn't be difficult, he thought, to seek out the owner of that scent and draw them into his bed. 

Well, a bed. Any bed, really. He wasn't picky about which bed. 

Except that he'd done that exact same thing earlier in the evening, and look where that had gotten him: Outside, in the rain, and hunting for the second time in the same night. 

No. No fast food, he resolved bitterly. If he wanted to feed enough to abate the hunger for a few days, then he'd need to put some actual effort into his hunt. 

He moved on. 

* 

Keith walked several blocks, dismissing most of his usual hunting grounds until he was on the edge of his own territory, a crossover point between his turf and the next. Neutral for now, but Keith had to wonder how much longer it would remain that way with fresh prey drawn to where there had once just been old warehouses. 

The club was new and trendy, built into a three-story building that had once been a slaughterhouse. Even from a short distance, Keith could feel the pulse of the bass rattle his rib cage. A line of potential patrons stringed down the sidewalk to the corner despite the rain. Keith frowned, first at the club-goers looking like brightly-colored birds hunkered together under their umbrellas, and then at his own, simpler ensemble: soaking wet in nothing but black, tight jeans and black t-shirt, boots, his favorite cropped jacket, and a pair of fingerless gloves. 

He wasn't exactly radiating club-chic. 

Effort, he sighed. He needed to put effort into this hunt. Even if he couldn't find one decent meal, a place like this could easily provide him with several smaller ones for the night. It wasn't what he wanted, truly, but he was in a pinch. It would do. 

Keith plastered a coy, cocky smirk onto his face as he approached one of the bouncers. 

The man was large — two of Keith at his narrowest point, with broad shoulders and thick arms — and merely raised an unaffected eyebrow at him as Keith approached. "End of the line, kid," he stated, flat. The tone of someone, Keith thought, who was expecting a petty argument. 

Instead, Keith stepped closer into the bouncer's space, let his own scent of sulfur, smoke and pheromones mingle into the damp air around the man, and tipped his head to one side. "I'm on the list." His voice was heavy, tinged with a dark purr that had the man blinking for a moment before the bouncer's eyes went glassy. "Name's Keith. Keith Kogane. I'm on the list," he repeated. 

"The list..." 

"Yeah, the list. I'm on it. You're supposed to let me in, remember?" 

The bouncer blinked slowly. "The list..." he said again. Keith sighed, repeated himself a third time before the man stepped aside. 

That earned the bouncer a smirk and Keith's breathe against his ear. "Come find me when you're off the clock," he suggested through the thrall. 

* 

Keith pushed his way through the tight press of people, leaning into the stray hands that played across the small of his back, the front his chest, his ass — and felt the hunger ebb to a low flame that kept him warm even though he had been drenched. This, this was where he needed to hunt, instinct approved, as someone grabbed him and kissed his lips with abandon; Keith sucked in a taste of their essence before they moved further into the dance floor. 

At the bar, he paid for a bottle of water. The bartender had just stepped away to another customer, when the smell of salt-water and an angry curse caught Keith's attention. " _Oh for fuck's sake_ ," the voice snapped. "I'd know that mullet anywhere." 

"I'm sorry." He turned to face the taller incubus behind him. "Do I know you?" 

"Do you— You. _Keith_ ," the other sputtered, face aflame. "You've seen me naked more times than my own mother!" 

"Have I?" Keith raised an eyebrow and took a sip from his bottle. "Hm... No. Don't seem to recall the face. Maybe if you'd turn around and bend over..." 

The other incubus jutted out his lower lip, the effect ruined by the mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. "You're such a dick, mullet-head." Keith shrugged. 

"I'm just insulted you recognized my hair before my ass, Lance." 

Lance shuffled into an empty space next to Keith at the bar, turning to lean his side against it and push up into Keith. "Well, what sort of self-respecting incubus rocks a _mullet_ , huh? And it's so nice to see you too, Keith. Glad you drug yourself out of the wastelands to join the rest of civilization for a while. Not like you've called or anything, let people know that you're not _dead_ out in the middle of nowhere." 

"I'm hungry." 

"Hungry for me?" Lance wiggled against Keith's side with a sly grin. 

"No, Lance. _Hungry_." Keith glanced away, letting the other digest the weight of the word. It took a moment, and then Lance was wrapping an arm around his shoulder and _laughing_ , the bastard. 

"Oh go— Oh shit, please tell me you didn't _forget to feed yourself again_ , Keith. _Please_ ," Lance cackled. "You are like— The _worst_ , man." 

"Lance. It's not _funny_." 

"Yes it is," the brown-haired incubus continued to laugh. "I mean, seriously. This is what? _The third time this year_? Keith, man, you need a fucking _keeper_ , I swear..." He glanced up at Keith, still grinning, and Keith scowled at him. "At least you remembered before, ya know..." 

Keith's expression flat-lined and Lance's laughter trailed off. He grabbed Keith's chin, tugged so they were nose-to-nose. It only took a handful of seconds for Lance to assess him — a quick sniff, a good look at the pallor of his skin under the multi-colored lights of the club, the discoloring under his eyes that his human form didn't quite hide. 

"Fuck." 

"That would help, yes," Keith deadpanned. 

"You— You— _Argh_!" Lance let go Keith's chin and pulled his hands through his own hair instead. "You are such a fucking idiot!" 

"Spare me the lecture, mom," Keith snapped. "I know. I've been busy." 

"Doing _what_? You spend most of your time out in the middle of nowhere, dumbass." Lance punched his shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise. "At least Pidge has an excuse when they forget important shit like _eating_." 

"Pidge has Rover to remind them," Keith muttered in his own defense. "And Matt, when he's around." 

Lance tipped his head and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe we should get them to build _you_ one. A Rover, not a Matt," he suggested. Keith shook his head; he didn't need one of the small dragon's robotic devices stalking him around his shack. If they'd even part with one of their hoard. Lance heaved a sigh and grabbed his wrist. "Fine, be a stubborn hermit," he tugged. "C'mon." 

"Wha— Lance!" Keith protested as he was jerked away from the bar. 

"We're getting you a decent meal." 

* 

"That one." 

Keith was now seated at one of the small tables near the dance floor, Lance draped over his back as they studied the dancers with intent. He felt Lance's head shake. "You really don't want a fuckboy like that, mullet. They last, like, five minutes." 

"I want to get fucked," Keith countered. "Period. I don't care how long they last." 

"Gee, wonder why you're starving? What about her?" Keith curled his nose and shook his head; he could smell her perfume from where he was seated. Starving or not, he liked being able to breath in his meal's scent without the extra flavoring. 

Lance hummed against his ear, arms tight around his shoulders, and glanced around again. "Well, what about... Oh. Oh _papi_. Yeah, _him_." Lance's long arm swung out, finger pointing up and across the room. Keith felt his mouth go dry. 

Seated at a table on the balcony above was his next meal. The man had to be tall — taller than Lance by a good head or so — and Keith watched his arm muscles flex underneath his tight shirt when he moved. His hair was cropped short on the sides and the back, longer on the top with a bleached white forelock falling into his face as he laughed around the mouth of his beer. The hand holding the bottle, the incubus noticed, was not flesh-and-blood, but a cybernetic prosthetic. Keith didn't care. The rest of him was, and it was flesh that Keith wanted — no, _needed_ — to get his hands and mouth on. 

Now. 

He could feel Lance radiating smug glee behind him. "Do I know you, or do I _know_ you?" 

"Shut. Up. Lance," Keith ground out, his hunger stoked again. Lance just leaned around to give him a playful peck on the cheek. 

Keith didn't protest as Lance pushed him out of his chair and grabbed at his wrist again. "You're sharing," the other incubus proclaimed. Keith snarled, but Lance just smirked again and leaned in to lick Keith's lips. "You owe me for this," he pointed out. "Besides, how long has it been since you took me out to dinner?" 

"I've never taken you out to dinner." 

"Which makes you a worse date than Nyma. At least she feeds a man before she breaks out the handcuffs. Besides, he can handle it. I mean," Lance motioned with his hand towards the man again as they cut around the edge of the dancers. "Can you _smell_ him?" 

Yes, Keith could, now that he was focused on his prey: musky, thick... Wanting, but not quite to the point of desperation. Lonely, perhaps, the incubus thought, even though he seemed to be enjoying talking to his two friends. 

A flight of stairs later, and the two incubi sauntered up to the table. "Hey, handsome," Lance purred, putting a sway into his hips as they approached and ignoring the white-haired woman and the larger man seated with their prey. Said prey, Keith's _meal_ , glanced up at the two of them. 

Even with the scar slashed across the bridge of his nose, the man was handsome. Good jaw line, lovely cheekbones. Keith licked his lips as the man blinked at the two of them. "Hey?" 

Keith could scent Lance's pheromones as the other leaned, one-handed, on the table and into the human's space. Keith moved around to his other side, fingers softly dragging along the back of the man's chair and brushing his back, his own pheromones adding sulfur and smoke to Lance's salt water. "Not that you don't look like you're having fun here," Lance continued, ignoring the man's companions, "but we wanna dance with you. Name's Lance," he said, then motioned. "That's Keith." 

The man glanced between them, bewildered. "Uh. Shiro?" 

* 

It took exactly seven minutes to get Shiro onto the dance floor with them, another three to get him to relax with Keith pressed between him and Lance. Keith was facing Shiro's chest, fingers fluttering along the planes of chest and stomach through his shirt while Lance ground into Keith from behind. The other incubus had tugged Keith's own shirt from his pants and was running his hands along Keith's sides under the cloth. 

Lance's touch left nice, chilled lines along his skin, but it wasn't what Keith wanted. 

"You can touch him, ya know?" Lance suggested, ducking his head to suck on Keith's ear lobe. "I mean, I know he'd kinda a snarly bitch— Ow. _Keith_." 

"Sorry," Keith smirked, not at all sorry for the heel to Lance's shin. 

"I don't want to impose," Shiro started, his hands still innocently resting on Keith's hips as they moved against one another. 

"Why? We invited you." 

"But the two of you— Uhm..." Shiro paused, awkward, and glanced between them. 

Oh, Keith realized. _Oh_. And he laughed. "We're not— we're not _together_. Not like that. We're just friends. With some benefits—" 

"Rivals," Lance insisted. "I secretly hate him and his stupid hair and his perfect ass so fucking much. You have no idea. But he needs all the help he can get if he's gonna get laid anytime this century. I mean, just look at his _hair_." 

"I will punch you, Lance," Keith warned. Lance just smirked and nipped at his neck, then grabbed a handful of Keith's hair. With a sharp tug, he angled Keith's face so that it was tipped up towards Shiro. The human looked nearly as hungry as Keith felt, pupils blown wide and flush spreading down his neck. 

"Go ahead, kiss him." 

Shiro did. 

_God, his essence_. Keith curled his fingers into the belt loops of Shiro's jeans and tugged the man closer, mashing their bodies and faces together as tightly as he could. Because, his essence... The taste. Citrus and spice, woodsy but warm like lying on the rocks of the wastelands with the noon sun overhead. Keith sucked at it, drew it out of Shiro's being, and moaned. Shiro tried to pull back, possibly to breath, but Keith shifted his arms around the taller man's neck and latched on. 

Behind him Lance whined and pushed his groin against Keith, impatient. With a reluctant groan, Keith shifted aside. His throat was burning. "Yeah, yeah. You've got to taste him," he rasped, light-headed. 

Lance didn't even bother to reply, his lips preoccupied with Shiro's mouth. Keith closed his eyes and breathed deeply; the human's arousal was slow to build, but it was getting stronger, along with the salt-sweet spike of Lance's scent as he feed. Keith gave the other incubus a minute before shoving him out of the way and reclaiming Shiro's mouth for himself. Only now, he could taste Lance too. 

It was Shiro's prosthetic hand in his hair that finally jerked him back. The human was panting hard, gaze unfocused as he tried to regain his composure. "You two—" he started, breathless. "I don't think you understa—" 

Keith wasn't interested in what else the man had to say. He met Shiro's gaze with eyes narrow. "You need to fuck me. Now." 

"What, now? _Here_?" Shiro swung his head around at the crowd of dancers. Keith could feel them too, pulsing harder around them, their scents sharper and headier as they touched and kissed and— 

"Whoops," Lance laughed. "Maybe not here. Don't wanna incite another accidental orgy this month. There's a motel—" Keith growled his refusal; he'd waited long enough tonight, between his earlier, unsatisfying meal, the thrall to enter the club, and now the energy it had taken to lull Shiro in. He wanted to feed. _Now_. 

"Okay, okay." Lance pushed at them both, steering them from the dance floor. "There's gotta be somewhere— Ah, yeah. That'll work." 

"Where— _What_ will work?" Shiro demanded even as Lance switched from pushing the two of them to pulling. 

"Bathroom," Lance huffed. Then, glancing over his shoulder and seeing the flabbergasted look on Shiro's face, the incubus shrugged. "What? This isn't even close to the kinkest thing I've done this week." 

* 

Keith's throat was still burning by the time they'd shoved their way into the men's restroom and the stall farthest to the back. It felt odd, he realized, with a frown. Tight, but not painful and certainly not enough to distract from his main interest. As Lance shifted them around — Shiro in front of Keith, Lance pressed against the door behind him — Keith leaned his head back against Lance's shoulder. 

He let Lance strip his jacket off drop it to the floor but took off his gloves on his own. Lance's hoodie was next, flopped into a pile at their feet, while Shiro pushed Keith's shirt up over his nipples. The incubus raised his arms, and the other man pulled the garment all the way off. 

"You two are sure...?" 

Keith held back a snarl. "Yes, I'm sure, So very fucking sure," he insisted, unhooking his belt and the button of his jeans. He smacked Lance's hand away before the other could tug at his zipper. "C'mon, get naked already," he demanded, reaching forward to tug Shiro's shirt off himself. 

Shiro started to protest, but Keith was no longer in the mood to listen. He pulled hard enough that Shiro had to let him jerk the fabric off or risk it being torn. Now Keith could finally admire those nice, hard— 

_Runes_? 

Keith froze. 

The human had faded _runes_ woven around his biceps, over and under multiple scars, settled over his collar bone and down on his hips. His entire body would be covered, Keith would have bet if he hadn't been stepping backwards and crowding Lance against the stall door. Because if this man had runes on him, then— Keith wrapped a hand around his own throat. 

The burning? 

Of course. The protectives had tried to stop him from feeding from the man. 

"Hunter!" Lance screeched behind him and clawed at the lock to the stall door. "Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_." 

"Hey, no! Calm down!" Shiro's prosthetic arm grabbed for the top of the door, holding it shut even as Lance twisted to shove it open. "Don't!" the hunter demanded. "I'm not a hunt— I'm not going to hurt you!" 

"Like fuck you won't!" Keith spat back. His fingers curled and flexed. "You knew, you had to know—" 

"I don't _hunt_ anymore!" Shiro insisted, then hissed, "Keith, for fuck's sake. At least put your _claws_ away." 

Keith's snarl cut off and he glanced quickly down at his hands. Black talons arched out of the beds of his fingernails. He could see where his red markings were appearing on his arms and the back of his hands. Behind him, Lance's struggling to get the door open ceased. 

The other incubus muttered a soft, "Shit," instead. "Keith?" 

"I— I don't think I can. I've got to— _I'm fucking hungry_!" he whined. 

Shiro leaned in and kissed him. 

The burn returned, but it was dull, nagging itch compared to the feel of Shiro's essence flowing into him. Fuck it, Keith thought and staggered forward, chasing Shiro's tongue with his own, swallowing his essence like boiling water. If Lance wanted to run... 

But he didn't. A moment later, he felt the other incubus' hand on his hips, the other finally tugging down his zipper before it dipped into the front Keith's pants. 

Keith's hips snapped at the contact. "Cold," Keith complained, muffled against Shiro's mouth. 

"Deal with it, mullet. Not all of us are living furnaces." 

Shiro chuckled then, one hand wrapped into Keith's hair to tug his lips away and tilt his head to expose his neck. "Better?" Keith nodded. Better, yes. Much better. But not enough. 

Not yet. 

"More. Don't want— Frenzy," he growled, flexing his fingers in the air. He couldn't focus enough to draw back his claws. Shiro made a noise of agreement. 

"Your glamour," he said between sucking and biting at Keith's throat. "Drop it." 

"Wha—" 

The human pulled back, amused eyes soft around the edges. "It drains you more to keep it up, right?" he asked. "To look human?" Lance's hand still in its ministrations of Keith's cock. "So just drop it. Both of you." 

Shiro shrugged like it was the simplest thing, to drop their glamours in front of a human. Hell, Keith hadn't fully let the glamour slide in front of _Lance_ , who he'd known far longer than he cared to admit, never mind a human. A hunter. Sensing his wariness, Shiro chuckled. "It's not like I don't know what you both are, right? I knew when I first walked into the club that incubi were here. I thought you'd noticed me too. That's why I was confused when the two of you approached me." 

"And you're really not trying to hunt us?" Keith didn't need to turn around to picture the unconvinced look on Lance's face — the one he'd gotten the first time Keith had suggested anything to do with candle wax and blindfolds. 

"Haven't hunted for two years," Shiro assured him, leaning past Keith to kiss Lance as well. "Allura — she's the fae I was with earlier — and Hunk have been working to remove the worst of the runes. They might sting a bit, but they shouldn't be able to actually harm you." 

Keith winced at Lance's indignant squawk in his ear. "She was _fae_? How did I not notice this?" 

He elbowed the other in the sternum. "Not. _Now_." Looking at Shiro, he reached up to drag a finger along the lines of one of the runes on Shiro's bicep. There was a spark, a small zap like he'd walked across shag carpet in humid weather and touched a doorknob, but like the burn in his throat, it wasn't exactly painful. 

It was thrilling, actually, to lay the tip of his finger against a _hunter's runes_ and not writhe in pain. 

Lance repeated the movement on Shiro's other arm. "Okay, you really want him, don't you? You sure?" he murmured, brushing lips against Keith's ear. Keith nodded. "Okay, we can— No wings, though. Not enough space. But. Yeah. I will if you will?" 

Keith nodded again and closed his eyes. Between one breath and the next, he just... Let go. For a brief moment, his skin felt hot, scaly marking licking around his arms and legs, up his neck, along his ribs, and onto his face. He could feel his horns push out of temples and spiral up, thin, twisted and knobby, and his tail extend from the scale-covered base of his spine to swish through the air. Against his back, he felt Lance cool just as much as he had heated. 

"Whoa." Shiro's tone was soft, reverent, and Keith blinked his eyes open when he felt the man's hand brush against one of his velvety horns. The shorter of the incubi shuddered and purred. 

Lance just laughed and pushed Keith's jeans further down his hips, below his knees. "Careful there, _papi_. That's almost a marriage proposal. Fuck, Keith, what is with you and squeezing your skinny ass into the tightest—" 

"Do you _ever_ stop talking?" Keith huffed, shoving lightly at Shiro's chest with his palms until the other man stumbled backwards and took a seat on the toilet. Over his shoulder he caught a glance of Lance's sly smirk, the white, bony horns that curled forwards along the sides of his head, his hair an equally stark white against his darker skin, and the patches of blue scales shimmering along the edge of his face and neck. 

Huh. He'd never seen Lance's true self either. Hadn't realized the other incubus would be so pretty. 

"Only if something's in my mouth." 

"Great, I'll remember to bring a ball gag the next time we do this." Keith dropped to his knees between Shiro's thighs and felt Lance fall in place behind him a moment later, shirtless now and his cold, bare skin pressed up all along Keith's back. Keith brought his hands up to Shiro's fly, but paused when both the human and the other incubus hissed in warning. 

Right, his claws. 

Lance just batted his hands out of the way and proceeded to tug Shiro's cock out with his slimmer, clawless fingers. "Go on," he urged, fist wrapped firmly around the base of Shiro's half-hard erection. Keith shifted forwarded, licking his lips before running his tongue over the head. 

Shiro groaned at that and settled his prosthetic hand into Keith's hair, the other ideally stroking the very tip of one of Keith's horns. 

And oh, oh. That wasn't _fair_. Keith whined low in his throat, even as Shiro's grip tightened and he guided the incubus' mouth down further onto his cock. Keith found a rhythm easily, sliding up to nearly the head to swirl his tongue around it then back down along the length with a firm suck. Then Lance moved his hand away from the base so that Keith could swallow all the way down, deep into his throat, and Shiro's hips bucked. 

"You can be rough with him," Lance explained, casual, as he grabbed and pulled Keith's hands behind his back. "He likes it." To prove his point, the other incubus's tail wrapped around Keith's wrists and squeezed tight. 

"Your tail's— Pre-prehensile?" Shiro gasped from above Keith. Lance laughed loudly. 

"You must not be sucking hard enough, mullet. He's using big words." 

Keith grunted his agreement and increased his efforts. In a couple of minutes, Shiro was groaning softly, the fingers in his hair no longer gentle with each tug. Fingernails scratched at the velvet of his antlers until finally, Shiro stood up and pulled Keith's head back. The grip in his hair twisted, holding him in place. 

Keith let his mouth go lax as Shiro thrust into it. 

Still nibbling on Keith's neck, Lance had yet to shut up. "Look so good with his dick in your mouth," he purred. "Nice and big and _hard_ , just how you like it." As he spoke, his hands glided over Keith's skin, firm enough to leave chills from nipple to navel and back up his sides. "Bet you wanna choke on his cum, huh?" A scratch followed, sudden and sharp. Keith jumped. "Get it shoved all the way down your throat, your pretty mouth fucked _raw_." 

Keith was moaning, squirming, and shifting his wrists against the small of his back even as Lance's tail held fast. His own tail slithered off his leg, where he'd tucked it, and swung back, whipping at the other incubus with an annoyed _thwap_. Lance yelped. 

Then grabbed Keith's tail in his fist and pulled. Hard. 

Keith spasmed, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes because Lance wasn't. Letting. Go. Above him, Shiro stilled, cock pulled out and a line of spit hanging between it and Keith's lips. "Lance, don't do that when my dick is in his mouth." 

"Oh. Sorry. But," Lance tugged again and Keith cried out. "He likes it?" 

"Would like— Your cock in my ass even more," Keith winced. "Lance, _stop it_." 

The other incubus gave a disappointed huff and let go. "Fiiiiiiiiiiiine. But you're letting me play with it later," he added, before teasing. "Now, whose cock were you wanting? Mino? Shiro's? Both?" 

A pause. "Oh, we _could_ do both. You're pretty flexible—" 

"Lance!" 

Keith glanced up at Shiro, the human giving the blue-tinged incubus an amused — if exasperated — smile. "We can talk about that later." Lance made a pleased hum and Keith couldn't help but agree. Later sounded good. 

Shiro pulled him to his feet, holding him steady, and Lance's tail dropped from his wrists. Keith stumbled forward, fidgeting as he tried to find some way to put his hands on Shiro's skin without cutting the man open. "Need—" he pleaded. 

"Yeah, okay." The human's voice was soft, hands holding Keith's elbows to keep him standing. "Lance, get his boots and pants off." 

_Oh thank fuck_. Keith slumped forward, letting his face bump into Shiro's chest since he still couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do with his hands. The runes sparked and fizzled. 

* 

"Sucking you off is like giving a blowjob to a flamethrower," Lance complained, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Yeah, well," Keith huffed, voice like gravel. His arms were shaking, stretched above his head and his fingers were still hooked over the top of the stall door to hold himself upright. "You taste like seaweed when you cum." His breath hitched as the other pinched Keith's inner thigh in retaliation. 

There was going to be a bruise there, from where Lance had _bit_ him. Asshole. 

But the hunger was gone, Shiro's essence heavy and warm in its place. His claws had pulled back in and even his — and Lance's — glamours had settled back over them with ease. He was stiff everywhere, in a pleasant way. Shiro's cum trailed damp and sticky down the back of one his legs. 

Shiro was leaning his forehead against the back of Keith's head, hands clamped on either side of his waist to help keep the incubus upright. "Do you two— ever stop— _fighting_?" he wondered between deep pants. Keith snorted; Lance laughed. The human took a slower breath, then another, before raising his head. "How did we not get caught? You. You're _loud_ , Keith." 

"Uh..." Keith looked down at Lance, who just shrugged. The bathroom was quiet, despite how busy the club had been. Then Keith heard grunts coming from the next stall. 

And the wet, rapid slap of flesh against flesh from somewhere else in the room. And more panting and groaning as his senses expanded out of the tunnel-like focus of 'moremore _more_ nownow _now_ '. Lance was blinking at his feet, flushed and sheepish. He hadn't been paying attention either. 

Shiro thumped his forehead against Keith's shoulder. "Right. Maybe we should find that motel room?" 


End file.
